cess was given by a ladder somewhat
frail and dilapidated. Up went the gauger, and began tossing down into
the room below the hay with which the place was filled. Quite a good
place in which to hide contraband articles, thought he. And still Stokoe
said never a word. Then, when all the hay was on the floor below and the
loft bare, and still nothing compromising had been found, down came the
gauger, preparing to depart.

"Hey! lassie," at length then came the deep voice of Stokoe; "gie me
Broon Janet."

The little girl slipped behind the big box-bed, and handed out a very
formidable black-thorn stick. Up then jumped Stokoe.

"Ye d----d scoundrel, ye've turned an honest man's hoose upside doon. Set
to, and leave it as ye fand it. Stow that hay where it was when ye cam'
here; and be quick aboot it, or I'll break every bane in your d----d
body."

The gauger backed towards the door, and drew a pistol. But he was just a
fraction of a second too late; "crack" came Stokoe's cudgel and the
pistol flew out of his hand, exploding harmlessly as it fell, and before
he could draw another he was at Stokoe's mercy. There was no choice for
the man; Stokoe took away all his arms, and then compelled him to set to
and put back everything as he had found it. There was nothing to be
gained by obstinately refusing. Stokoe was a man of sixteen or seventeen
stone, a giant in every way, and as brave as he was big--a combination
that is not always found. He could, literally, have broken every bone in
the gauger's body, and the chances in this case were strongly in favour
of his doing it if his adversary chose to turn rusty. Truly "the de'il
was awa' wi' the exciseman."

So for hours the unhappy Preventive officer toiled up and down that
rickety ladder, carrying to the loft again all the hay he had so lately
thrown down, and putting the whole house as far as possible again in
the state in which it had been when he began his search. And all the
while Stokoe sat comfortably smoking in his big chair by the fire,
saying never a word.

At length the task was ended, and the gauger stood dripping with
perspiration and weary to the sole of his foot and the foot of his soul,
for all this unwonted work came on top of an already long day's duty.
Then:

"Sit doon!" commanded Stokoe, an order that the poor man obeyed with
alacrity and thankfulness. Stokoe slipped behind the box-bed, was absent
a few minutes, and then returned, bringing with him a keg